by Pam Fluttert
Scott drags me away from the swinging fists to where Mom is. I stand, numb, with Scott holding one hand and Mom the other.
Greg loses his balance when Dad swings at him again. Greg falls to the ground and pulls Dad’s arm, taking him down as well. They continue their battle, rolling around on the damp grass.
A flash of red comes into view down by the woods. I hold my breath, hoping to see Amy following behind Sarah, but she doesn’t appear.
“Mommy, make them stop!” Sarah yells, flying toward my mom and hugging her around the waist. Sarah’s sobs are muffled in my mom’s skirt.
Another loud crack draws my attention back to the fight. Dad’s face swings to the side, an arc of blood following the motion of his head.
“This has to stop.” Mom disentangles herself from Sarah and runs across the lawn, disappearing through the patio doors. Sarah follows close behind, still crying.
What if Greg really hurts Dad? It will be my fault. I never imagined that this would happen and I’d be standing here watching them try to tear each other apart.
I approach them, trying to find a way to break up the fight. Now Greg is on top of Dad. I grab his jacket, trying to pull him off. “Leave him alone.”
Greg swings his arm around, knocking me in the face and sending me to the ground. “Get away, you little…”
I huddle on the ground, covering my bloody nose. Dad throws Greg off him. “Don’t you ever touch my daughter or anybody in my family again.”
Scott grabs my arm, pulling me up and farther away from the scuffle.
“That’s enough. I’ve called the police. Break it up – now!”
I hadn’t even heard or seen Mom come back out from the house. The fact that she has called the police begins to register in my muddled brain.
What will happen to everyone? What will happen to me? Will my parents tell them what Greg has been doing to me?
“Kat, what happened?” Mom is staring at me with wide eyes. She gently touches my cheek where Greg hit me. A strange, croaking sound escapes her, and I leave Scott’s protection to be enfolded in my mother’s arms. How long have I wished for a hug like this?
“You’re bleeding. What happened to you?”
“I’m okay, Mom. I got too close. It’s just a nosebleed.”
“Why are they fighting? Why won’t they stop?” Sarah is behind Mom, clinging to her.
“Come here, Sweetie.” Mom reaches behind and draws Sarah to her side, still keeping me safe in her other arm. It feels so good to be held like this.
Mom’s hands run through Sarah’s hair, trying to calm her.
I didn’t want it to happen this way. I feel Mom tremble when Greg’s fist makes contact with Dad’s cheek. I never should have said anything. This is my fault.
The wail of the police sirens draws closer.
“Are they going to take Daddy away?” Sarah whispers.
Mom’s eyes look sad. Squeezing both of us, she whispers, “I don’t know. I just don’t know, Honey.” Mom looks into my eyes. “I just don’t seem to know much of anything these days.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m so sorry.” I bury my face in her shoulder, no longer able to stand the sounds of the fight.
Mom’s hand feels warm and comforting when it rubs up and down my back. “Don’t you be sorry, Kat. We’re sorry.”
What does she mean? Why is she saying sorry? I’m the one who’s screwed everything up.
Sirens and slamming car doors echo from the front yard.
Moments later, two police officers in full uniform run around the side of the house. They rush past us and approach Greg and Dad, who are still rolling around on the ground.
The tall officer drags Dad off Greg and pulls him off to the side. Greg stumbles to his feet to follow, obviously not ready to stop. The other officer immediately moves in and grabs Greg’s arms, forcing them behind him. With an ominous click, the cuffs close around Greg’s wrists.
Greg struggles with the officer. “What the hell is going on? Let me go.” His eyes show signs of desperation.
The officer moves to grab Dad’s arms, but Dad holds up his hand. “It’s okay. I’m done.” The officer nods, but still puts the handcuffs on.
Dad lowers his head to swipe the blood from his lip onto his shoulder, where it leaves a red smear on his ripped shirt. His pants, once a tan color, are covered with grass stains and mud. I’ve never seen my dad so dishevelled. His hair is sticking straight up, with dead leaves tangled in it. His eye is already starting to bruise and swell, and blood is still running down his nose.
Mom holds Sarah and me close. A shudder runs through her. “David,” she whimpers, staring at Dad.
Sarah’s sobs pierce the air with renewed volume.
Dad looks at us, as if realizing for the first time that we’re standing there. “It’s okay, Maria.” His voice is familiar and firm, and strangely reassuring.
He looks at Sarah briefly and then locks eyes with me, grimacing in pain as he shifts his weight. For the first time in a long time, I find myself feeling sorry for Dad and wishing I wasn’t the cause of his distress.
“It’s going to be all right, Kat. We’ll work this out,” Dad says, before the officer leads him to the front. The other officer follows, pushing Greg, still struggling against the handcuffs, along in front of him.
Emotions bombard me as Greg is taken into custody: fear of what’s going to happen next, sadness for everything ending this way, relief and trepidation that my dreadful secret is finally out in the open. Yet, through all of this, the comfort of Dad’s parting words echo inside me, controlling my trembling and calming me.
My head pounds and I’m suddenly exhausted. I want to climb into a black hole and forget everything that’s happened within the last twenty minutes.
“Kat! Kat, where are you? Kat!” Steph’s panicked voice rings out.
“Back here,” I whisper, unable to summon the energy to shout any louder.
The tall police officer who pulled Dad off Greg comes back around the house.
“Mrs. Thompson, you made the call?” My mom nods.
“I’m going to have to ask you some questions,” he says, stopping in front of the three of us.
Mom moves slightly in front of me, as if sheltering me from the officer’s view. She nods and points toward the side of the house. “Let’s talk over there.”
Scott is immediately by my side and wraps his warm, protective arms around me. I’m no longer angry that he started all of this. I just want to stay sheltered forever.
“Kat!” Steph comes around the corner of the house. She stops a few feet from Scott and me, trying to catch her breath, her eyes swing between us and Mom, walking up the lawn with the officer, followed by Sarah.
Scott cradles my cheeks with both hands and looks into my eyes.
“Are you okay?” He looks relieved when I nod. “Did he hurt you before I got here?” I shake my head and flinch when his hand rubs the tender spot where Greg hit me.
“Who? What’s going on?” Steph was never able to wait patiently. Her head swivels back and forth in obvious confusion.
She’s here now, but we’ve lost some of the closeness we once shared. We used to tell each other pretty much everything. Why am I hesitating now?
Sensing my reluctance, Scott turns to his sister. “Why don’t you help Mrs. Thompson with Sarah, Steph? It looks like she could use it.”
After one last look, as if to let me know that it isn’t over, Steph walks over to coax Sarah away from my mom and the officer.
Now that some of the shock of what’s happened is fading, I look up at Scott again. “How could you? I told you that it was my decision.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Kat. I saw Greg’s car and I just…well, I just snapped. I’m
sorry.”
Sighing, I nod. It’s done and there’s no going back, even if I wanted to.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Are you sure, Kat? You don’t have to do this.” Scott glances at me, his concern evident.
Sinking back into the patio chair, I stare blindly, trying to gather my thoughts. Why do things have to be so complicated? Every time I think I’ve made up my mind, I change it again. Everything happened so fast.
Mom is still with the officer and they have walked around to the front of the house. Steph has taken Sarah inside to try and calm her down.
For what seems like the hundredth time since the craziness began, I’ve wondered if I’m ready. I feel incapable of making a decision and sticking to it.
“I don’t know,” I finally whisper.
“Don’t rush this, Kat. If you talk to them…well, you have to be sure.”
“I think I’m going to see how it feels when we get to the station. I know Mom will go there as soon as the officer leaves, and I want to go along. If I don’t say anything, what will they do to Dad?” My stomach tightens with nerves.
“I don’t know. But if you say something now, you can’t turn back. You have to do it for yourself, not to help your dad out of this mess. He’s a big boy – he can handle what’s coming. I’m sure he wouldn’t expect you to say anything if you’re not ready.”
“You don’t know my father.”
“Maybe, but he might surprise you, Kat.”
Reluctantly, I admit to myself that Dad has surprised me already. I expected him to turn and yell at me earlier tonight, but he attacked his best friend instead.
Does that mean Dad believes me?
Scott squeezes my hand. I stare at the cold, brick walls of the house, picturing Dad and Greg sitting in prison cells. Would they put them into cells? How would it feel to be behind bars? What is Greg telling the police? A small part of me wishes things could go back to the way they were. I fight the urge to run into the house and try to forget it all happened, but deep down, I know that if I let myself down now, I’ll never have the courage to come this far again. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t follow through.
I see an image of Dad’s face as he looked at me just before the officer led him away. He told me that things would work out. Was that the lawyer in him or the father talking?
And then I see Greg, his eyes burning into mine, his lips set in a grim line and his fists clenched in the cuffs behind his back. I focus on this picture, trying to figure out what’s missing. He’s been angry and upset with me before, he’s been sweet and cajoling, he’s been domineering, but he’s never had a look of hatred like that. That look of hatred on his face made me feel – I stopped dead in my tracks. GADS! I didn’t feel anything at all! I wasn’t scared of him.
“Oh, wow,” I say, barely realizing that I’m speaking out loud.
“What is it?” Scott leans forward.
“I wasn’t scared of Greg. I didn’t turn to ice inside like I always have before. What does that mean?” I ask Scott.
“I don’t know, Kat. Maybe it means you finally felt safe.”
“Yeah, maybe. I always pictured Mom and Dad freaking out – but on me, not Greg. I figured they’d call me a liar for the rest of my life, but they didn’t. Even Steph came after everything we’ve been through lately. I had the courage to speak out and you were all there for me and no one called me a liar. Even Sarah didn’t defend Greg this time.” I grasp Scott’s hand and turn sideways in my seat to look directly at him.
“I had the upper hand!”
A sense of power sweeps over me. It feels so sweet I can almost taste it. Is this how Greg felt when he had power over me all those years? Did he feel invincible?
“I can do this, Scott.”
Scott studies me for a moment, smiles, and nods.
Chapter Twenty-Two
He’s in there, behind bars, and I’m out here. I have the power to keep him there, where he belongs – if I can do this.
I hesitate in front of the doors of the police station. Mom pauses beside me with her hand resting lightly on my shoulder. “You’re sure?”
She’s asked the same question several times since she finished with the officer at the house and saw the look on my face when she returned to the backyard to find me. It’s like she read my mind and knew what I was going to do without asking. I have no idea what explanation she gave the police officer for Dad and Greg’s fight, but she didn’t tell him about my accusation. I guess she figured it was up to me to decide if I wanted to take it further. Mom was clearly in a state of shock after the officer left. I’ve never seen her so pale and withdrawn before.
I look at her reflection in the glass door of the station and nod. I’m sure. I think of little Taylor, lying alone in the hospital, with no support from anyone. If she could find the courage to tell, so can I.
Inside, no one is manning the counter, so Mom and I wait. The entrance is pretty much what I expected. The walls are cold and white, and the floor is a dull gray with black scuff marks and smudges. A poster hanging to my right promotes Neighborhood Watch programs and another one advertises an upcoming charity auction to raise money for the homeless. I half expect to see WANTED posters, but aside from pictures of missing children, there are none.
Stacks of pamphlets sit on the counter for people to read. I bend over to pick up one that’s fallen to the floor. I reach to return it to the pile, when the bright red words across the top catch my attention. “What Should You Do If You Suspect Child Abuse?” A little girl holding a teddy bear and sucking her thumb is pictured on the front.
I freeze, staring at the words, as they register and repeat in my head. Child abuse…child abuse…child abuse. I’m an abused child. Putting a label to me – to something that happened to me – makes it seem so real. I’m a statistic. I’m one of them…one of those numbers mentioned in a pamphlet that someone dropped on the floor not caring enough to pick it up let alone take it home.
“Can I help you?”
I come to attention with a start. Across the counter from me is a pair of impatient brown eyes, set in the face of a young officer who seems busy and about to rush off again. Fiddling with the pamphlet in my hand, I’m unable to make my brain connect to my mouth. Say something, Kat. Don’t just stare at him. Do you want to be a victim all your life?
“You okay?” the officer asks, narrowing his eyes and probably wondering what kind of drugs I’m on.
“I…I need to…” I stammer.
“We need to talk to someone.” My mom steps in just as another officer walks into the room. I immediately recognize him as the man who pulled Dad and Greg apart at our house.
“It’s all right, Chambers, I’ve got this,” he says, and the brown-eyed officer rushes away, a pile of papers under his arm and a look of relief on his face.
“Your name’s Kat, isn’t it?” The officer waits for me to find my tongue.
I nod stupidly.
“Are you here to add something to your statement?” He glances at Mom.
Mom grips my shoulders with reassuring hands. “Yes, we need to talk to you.” She glances around. “If we could go somewhere private—”
“Maria! Don’t say a word. I’ll handle this.” My father comes out through a door to the side. He doesn’t look much better than he did when he was taken away, except that the blood has stopped flowing from his nose. His right eye is swollen, he has a fat lip, and a rainbow of blues, purples and blacks colors his face.
“Where’s Sarah?”
Mom answers quietly. “She’s at home with Steph and Scott. Kat thought maybe she’d like to come and talk to somebody.” Mom squeezes my hand, trying to send me a message. I hesitate, uncertain if she is encouraging me to proceed or to listen to Dad. I’m so used to her being a buffer between us that I’m not sure what
she is trying to tell me.
“Kat doesn’t need to talk to anybody. I’ll handle everything.”
They’re talking about me as if I’m not even here, just like Dad has always done. Talking about me and making all my decisions for me, without even stopping to wonder what I want and think. Years of hearing Dad saying “Kat needs this…” or “Kat doesn’t want that…” or “Kat is going to do this…” or, worst of all, “Kat will try better next time….”
No more.
“No,” I whisper. Dad looks at me curiously. Mom’s eyes are full of fear, but I’m sure I also see a hint of encouragement. The officer raises his eyebrow as if inquiring whether I have more to say.
“No, you won’t handle this. I need to talk to somebody.” A force rings in my voice that I have never used with Dad.
“Okay, why don’t you come this way?” the officer says, walking toward a door marked authorized personnel only.
Dad has found his voice again. “I’ll come with her.”
Telling a stranger what Greg did to me is one thing, but saying those things in front of my father is another. In time, I might be able to, but not now. Not with the questions they’ll ask. How can I admit in front of them the things I let Greg do and the things he made me do to him? I still have a hard enough time admitting them to myself.
“I…I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I hope my father will let it rest this one time and treat me like I’m not a small child.
Dad steps forward, his mouth open in protest, when Mom interrupts and volunteers to come.
Part of me wants Mom there. Part of me wants to cling to her warmth and strength and lose myself in her protection. Will I be able to do this if I have her there? Will I be able to say the things I need to say with her beside me? She hasn’t let me down yet, but I might let myself down if she’s there. No. I need to do this by myself. I need to fight my demons and say the words.